A Day Anew
by Boote
Summary: The Russians successfully test the atom bomb. America is upset. England has to deal with it. Slight UKUS


The door to England's office flew open, slamming into the wall. The plaster cracked sickeningly, and he sighed, not pausing in his writing. _Not again_. Heavy footsteps approached from behind- they were quick, uneven. They paced behind him, stopping to tap against the faded, floral carpet, accented and allegro, only to start again moments later. Grunts and muffled screams punctuated the movements, and he heard flesh against wood.

"Don't punch a hole in my wall, love."

He finished his sentence, hovering over the period before turning in his chair, gazing levelly at America. His eyes had deep bags underneath them, and they were bloodshot. Loose blonde hairs stuck to his sweaty palms, and his jacket sat haphazardly on his shoulders. Deep grooves adorned his cheekbones, a testament to surely-too-small aeroplane goggles, and he still wore his aviator's cap.

"Did you hear?" America demanded, stomping his foot onto the much abused floor.

England exhaled, a drawn out 'h'. Of course. Quite honestly, he was surprised it had taken America this long to come to London. It was September 3rd, and four full days had passed since the _First Lightning _lit up the sky in the Kazakh SSR.

"That bastard!" America continued, resuming his pacing and ignoring the lack of response from England. "That goddamned commie _bastard_! How dare he?"

England hummed. He knew the boy was sleep-deprived, angry, and probably stark raving mad.

"If he had accepted Baruch's fucking plan, this wouldn't be an issue. We would have given him the information, and the world wouldn't be in peril because a crazy and his even crazier Uncle Joe had their hairy paws on _nuclear fucking weapons _that no one else except for me has but I'm the hero and it's such a clear hero versus villain thing! He's doing this to _spite _me, Artie."

"How is he spiting you?" The question was pitched lowly, more a comment than a real inquiry.

"Because he knows. He _knows _he knows he knows he knows!"

"Knows what?"

"He _knows _what it's capable of! He saw what it did to Japan! He promised that he'd help me in the Pacific, and do you know what that fucker did?" Of course England knew, he'd been at Potsdam as well, remembered the days when America's new boss raised mistrust in both Stalin and Churchill. "He waited until I had already dropped the bomb!"

America stared at a hanging above England's desk. It was a simple landscape of the countryside, and he suddenly felt obscene and narcissistic as America looked without seeing. "That bastard," he whispered, crossing the room to collapse onto England's desk, leaning forward, elbows propped on his knees. He sat directly on England's papers, and England had to wonder if he could feel the not-quite-dry ink soak into his clothing.

"I hate him!" he declared pounding his fist onto his leg. Spinning in his chair to face him once again, England reached out and covered the fist with his hand, curling it around until he felt the tension drain out of it and saw America's head droop further. Working his fingers in between America's, England felt his palm change from cool and dry to warm and slick.

"I know, love."

"He's going to try and kill me, you know? I know that's why he's doing this. And you'll be caught in the crossfire." America peered at England through a blonde fringe (his hair hadn't been cut for months, it seemed, because it was long enough to poke out under the cap), and with the cap's flaps hanging around his ears, he reminded England of a particularly earnest, despondent dog. He ran his thumb over the back of America's hand. He knew that that truth lay at the core of his paranoia.

"I don't want you to be hurt because of all this," he admitted after a long moment, almost inaudible, and with his free hand pulled the cap off his skull. He stared at it for a long moment, before tucking it onto England's, running his hand down the side of his face.

He didn't lean into the touch, instead taking the hand in his own and pulling it down into his lap, adjacent to the others. "I know."

America looked at him, eyes a shining blue, a brighter blue than England had seen in years. The wars had hardened those eyes until they reflected like the glasses in front of them- seemingly clear but showing a distorted truth. Now, now they _were _clear- but England could still see ripples on the edge of the white.

America's grip tightened to the point where it was almost painful. "I love you."

England knew this. He had carefully bred it, that adoration, all those years ago when Alfred was his and his alone. He had also destroyed it when he got too controlling, when he got too involved after so many years of benign neglect. Tea and sugar stamps formed a wall between England and America's heart, and after much kicking and screaming, he accepted it.

It wasn't until years later, until this moment, really, that he realized how advantageous that was. In his years as an independent power, Alfred had developed a ridiculous hero complex, had inflated his ego from sea to shining sea. And when he 'came to England's rescue' in 1917 and again in 1941, he studied England anew. That love for England grew out of America- and enough years had passed that he did not realize that the seed had been planted so many years ago, and that America was only the hired gardener. America saw England as the damsel in distress and loved him for it, while England knew, deep down, that while their 'special relationship' was genuine, he could make or break America in this fragile state he presented.

So he hushed him, murmuring "I know" as he squeezed back.

Stillness came upon them for several minutes, the only sounds America's growingly ragged breathing and the only movements the gentle brushing of England's thumbs over the back of America's hands.

It didn't last.

"What if."

Tilting his head upwards towards America, England raised an eyebrow. "What if?"

"What if Russia bombs me. What if I end up like Japan, and what if it _breaks _me. It was hard enough doing… that to someone else" (_memories of a hot, sticky September night flooded back to England- the words America spoke to him as they had victory sex. He had seen America's mouth moving and leaned down to hear his almost silent words, and they came like a chant. 'I destroyed him, Arthur, I destroyed him and God, you saw him. I blew two holes in his chest and do you know what I did to Kiku? I raped him, and it was bloody and terrible and I don't know why I did it, but I did.' At the last word, England came_) "and I don't know if I could stand that happening to me. Oh, God."

Dropping England's left hand, America's fingers groped around at his collarbone, searching for the cross England knew he didn't wear anymore. He stood, reclaiming America's hand and freeing the other. "Shh, shh," he cooed, pressing America's face into his shoulder. "That won't happen."

The voice was muffled, but distinct enough that England understood both the tone and the words. "But how do you know?"

He carded his fingers through the damp hair that clung to his scalp. "Because I know. Because you're stronger than Japan is- an attack to you wouldn't be nearly as devastating. Because you're not weakened by war and because you don't rely on your navy nearly as much and because you have more weapons than him and because Russia might be crazy ("A crazy commie," America whispered into his shirt), but he's not stupid or suicidal."

"He might still do it. He hates me and…" America trailed off, and when he spoke again, it had dropped several decibels. "I'm afraid of him."

"And he's just as afraid of you, love. And besides, if he tries to kill you, I won't let him."

America pulled back now, his face slightly damp (from sweat, he would later insist), and blue met green in a fantastic bridging of the Atlantic. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

Breaking eye contact, England dipped his head to press a kiss to America's temple. "We're developing nuclear weapons ourselves." At America's surprised look, he added, "Keep hush about that."

"How? With what money?" Incredulity. Unsurprising.

"We're willing to push back paying back those loans we owe you- hope you don't mind, love- in exchange for some safety. In case it's escaped your attention, I'm in the middle of you two. Not only would an attack on me be strategic from a propaganda point of view for Russia—'Revenge on Churchill!' they'll chant—Ivan knows it will destroy you. Don't let me be your Lois Lane."

A grin quirked at the edges of America's lips. "You read them?"

"In between raids."

"How sweet!" England could see America brighten, more akin to his usual self. "Did the bombs really bring the sound effects to life?"

He chuckled. "That they did." Laying his palm flat on America's head, he ruffled the hair- deliberately brushing that gravity-defying strand. America pushed himself off the desk, pulling England closer. Their lips brushed, and England pushed forward until America was pinned between himself and the desk, deepening the kiss. America tasted salty.

They pulled apart, and America seemed cheerful again. "You'll be fine," England told him.

He was rewarded with a smile. "I know. Thanks." He wrapped his arms around England and hugged him tightly, burying his nose into the coarse cotton at the nape of his neck. After a long moment, he pulled away reluctantly. "Really. Thank you. But…" He looked down at his watch, grimacing as he pulled one of his own hairs off of it. "I guess I should fly back. I didn't tell my boss I was leaving."

An exasperated sigh. "Of course you didn't." A short kiss. "You can refuel, but only enough to make the trip back. We're still rationing here."

"I know!" Another kiss, and America pulled away entirely. "Oh, England, can I ask you a favor real quick?"

"Really quickly. And yes."

"Can we, I dunno, station some nuclear weapons on your island? In case the Soviet bastards start getting too frisky with Europe. It's a lot shorter from here to there than from me to him."

England pursed his lips, again unsurprised. "I'll ask."

"Thanks! You're a doll." He looked out into the empty hallway, frowning. "I should run. I love you!" And with that America slammed the door shut behind him, the sound of his footsteps slowly decrescendoing to a distant drumbeat, then nothing. England sighed, the barest hint of a smile on his face. America's entrance _had _left a hole in his wall, he noticed, and when he sat down again, he saw that the ink of his financial reports had been smudged. With a sigh, he turned the sheet of paper over (the material being far, far too valuable to use arbitrarily anew at ever little mistake) and began to work again.

* * *

Historical notes:

-This story takes place September 3rd, 1949, five days after the first successful test of nuclear weapons by the Soviet Union. The RDS-1, or First Lightning, was tested at the Semipalatinsk Test Site in the Kazahk SSR.  
-"Baruch's fucking plan" refers to the Baruch Plan, which proposed that the US would turn over all of its nuclear weapons and knowledge about them to the UN, and in exchange, no other nation would produce them. It was supposed to bring world peace, but naturally it didn't fly with the Soviet Union, and it didn't pass.  
-The scene with Japan naturally refers to the dropping of atomic bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  
-At the Potsdam Conference, the USSR agreed to send troops to help fight in Japan. However, they didn't show up until after the US had already dropped the atom bomb, and their presence was more of a victory march to ensure Soviet influence in the talks over Japan's fate.  
-Truman did not mesh with either Stalin or Churchill as well as Roosevelt did, leading to some tenser relations.  
-"Tea and sugar and stamps"- the taxes imposed by England on the American colonies in the wake of the Seven Years' War which ultimately led to the American Revolution.  
-"How? With what money?"- After the war, England owed a huge debt to the US, but in 1952, they became the third country to successfully test a nuclear weapon. However, they had had knowledge of them for a while, having sold the US some of their nuclear research in the Destroyers for Bases deal.  
-"You read them?" The first Superman comic came out in 1938, and the "Between raids" comment suggests that America mailed them to England during the war- more specifically, during the blitzing of London.  
-The US stationed nuclear arms on several countries, including the UK, Turkey, and Germany. Some are still there to this day.

This was originally written for the APH History Swap on LJ. I hope you enjoyed it!


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